


too long till i drown in your hands

by sugodemic



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, Alternate Universe - Swimming, Awkward Sexual Situations, Explicit Consent, Frottage, Grinding, Locker Room, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Non-Penetrative Sex, Public Shower, Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Swim Team, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugodemic/pseuds/sugodemic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything will be <i>fine</i>.</p><p>That’s what Hoseok thinks before he sees Yoongi.</p><p>Min Yoongi. Underdog. The fastest swimmer on the team. When seen wearing snapbacks it works better than church. In a healthy relationship with his cell phone and coffee. Introvert secretly energized by team dynamics.</p><p>Also naked. In the very, very open shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too long till i drown in your hands

There’s something basic about swimming alone, something carnal and mindless and simplified, and Hoseok would go as far as to say it’s the only time he really feels like he’s swimming like he used to. Nothing ever eliminates how critical he is of himself, how he holds himself back with the binds of his own mindset, how he trips himself up over and over, how he works past his limit and continues berating himself, but there’s less to worry about somehow.

Hoseok has a hard time simplifying things that aren’t simple. He can’t just prioritize his thoughts or his situations or his circumstances. He always has to do everything at once, worry about everything at once, work on everything at once.

Having a big pool all to himself is probably Hoseok’s favorite part of being on the men’s college swim team. It’s not something he could do back in high school. If there’s one perk out of the existential crisis that is college, it’s having an ID card and an enthusiastic coach and being able to get to the pool whenever.

The lack of people around him takes away the necessary evil of wondering how he looks and compulsively pushing his hair back from his face, of always thinking someone’s looking at him, of being absorbed in scanning for the team’s mistakes and his own, of getting called out for being overly critical of someone again when he forgets to inject a dose of saccharine into his tone (sometimes he doesn’t care), of making sure he doesn’t miss reacting to a joke because he hates being left out, of worrying about everyone’s aches and pains.

He’s alone with his thoughts for once (and they’re not so nice). But it’s probably better than sensory overload.

His form is off. He’s aware of it when he comes up for air, gasps it down with a burn in his lungs, and the water’s weight can’t pin everything down. Thoughts push through when he’s forced to remember he’s human, to come up for a breath, to breathe, and he dips back down after a short acknowledgement.

Hoseok cuts through the surface and carves a path, sharp and merciless, fingers grabbing for nothing. He pushes off the wall, body riding the motion of the water, and coats himself completely under its layers, allowing no skin to cut the surface. Challenges himself not to breathe till he reaches the other end.

It’s easier to swim when he’s not being watched, observed, analyzed. Not having his own mistakes picked apart and digested and learned from. He has a growing hunch that it’s why he’s always second, never first.

For now it’s like he’s something other than human, a collection of coordination and breathlessness. He feels light, like he’s thinning, draining into the water the further he goes. His heart’s beating like a drum, brain expanding, lungs shivering. He breaks the surface gasping and coughing and reaching for the edge of the pool, thoughts whispered, mind staticky—

He didn’t make it to the other end before having to come up for air.

Hoseok heaves himself up onto the floor, chest contracting, muscles tight and burning, almost wanting to recoil from the sureness of something so solid. He folds in halfway, lower half still dangling in the water, arms folded in front of himself, and gags—

He couldn’t even make it to the other end before coming up for air.

“Fucking shut _up_ ,” Hoseok says into the crook of his bicep, biting down onto his skin for a fraction of a second. It’s an outlet, a punishment, a way of snapping the non-existent rubber band around his wrist. He rips off his goggles and cap and throws them across the room, presses his head into the floor, and drags himself out of the pool.

Hoseok rolls onto his back, eyes hooded, muscles tense.

It was nice while it lasted.

Hoseok rakes his fingers through his hair, stretches briefly, and staggers onto his feet, knees buckling a little so that he has to lock them to stay standing. He makes it to the locker room in a daze, and he’s halfway through peeling off his Speedo when he hears it.

The (faint) sound of a shower running in the next room gets his legs all tangled up and he stumbles, hand slamming into his locker for leverage. Too bad it’s open. His arm sinks in a few inches before his hand hits the end of it. His hipbone (his poor fucking hipbone) collides with the lockers underneath and makes the most _horrendous_ sound.

He’s halfway through freaking the fuck out when he hears… it. A thing. A choked, raspy whine… gasp… groan… breath? He settles on breath. A choked, raspy breath. (Oh. Fuck. That actually doesn’t sound any better.)

He’s halfway through reacting to it when he decides that it’s got to be muffled crying and it’s a ghost and it must be Moaning Myrtle and he should just crawl back to the dorms before he’s noticed.

And he’s been halfway through trying not to connect a face to the voice for a minute now. He keeps stopping and restarting and starting again and clearing the image in his head and he’s malfunctioning, he really is.

The noises are the least of his problems. He was not prepared for social interaction. He is not prepared for social interaction. He does not feel good, therefore he does not, and never will, look good. That’s just how it works.

Hoseok uses logical reasoning. He’s just gotten out of the pool and he feels vaguely like he’s going to faint. (A step forward.) He’s light-headed and delirious and he’s slept all of three hours today and he’s probably hearing things. It wouldn’t be the first time. (Another step.) He always hears static in his ears because that’s totally normal, especially after making a locker scream, and static kinda sounds like a running shower. (And another.) He’s pretty sure his hipbone is swelling and he should go take care of that with a nice, soothing shower. (Just _go_ for it.)

Everything will be _fine_.

That’s what he thinks before he sees Yoongi.

Min Yoongi. Underdog. The fastest swimmer on the team. When seen wearing snapbacks it works better than church. In a healthy relationship with his cell phone and coffee. Introvert secretly energized by team dynamics.

Also naked. In the very, very open shower. One hand around his cock. One hand a makeshift cockring. Making noises.

Nothing will be fine. No one will be fine.

Jung Hoseok will not be fine. Jung Hoseok is not fine.

This is not fine.

Hoseok turns on his heels and rushes to squeeze through the door before it closes but obviously it isn’t as open as he left it and dammit don’t judge him, he is malfunctioning.

The door slams shut in his face.

Hoseok stares at the door. He is stock still, bare assed, and trying his very hardest to respectfully disappear and show that’s his intention, while Min Yoongi, hand limp around his cock, turns around.

“ _Shit_ ,” Yoongi chokes. His voice is unsteady, wavering between deep and thin all in one word.

He sounds like he’s either about to cry or come or _both_.

Hoseok gropes for the door. Slows himself down. Way down.

He has seen dicks. Most dicks are just dicks, and are not worthy of a raging boner. (He begs his own to take the hint.) He has showered with Yoongi in the vicinity. He has also touched dicks. He has touched lots of dicks, with many different purposes for that touching. He has walked in on people. He is a grown(ish), unprepared man, and he can _handle_ this.

“It’s—it’s fine!”

Hoseok’s voice cracks. Eloquent. He’s off to a real great start. 

“Shit,” Yoongi says again. This time it is absolutely a whimper and he sounds like he wants to die and Hoseok does not want him to die. He may have lost a shred of respect for the guy, sure, but…

Hoseok glances over his shoulder, performing an awkward upper body twist. “I just got finished swimming. I need to shower.” He sounds awful and clinical and awfully clinical and clinically awful. “You wanna, um.”

Yoongi has his face turned decidedly in the opposite direction, blonde hair plastered to his forehead, framing severe and dark eyebrows. He wipes his hand (the hand that was around his cock, the hand that was around his cock, the hand that was around his cock) along his inner thigh. It’s soft under his fingers and he grips it like he needs something to hold onto, curling into himself. He’s shaking, blooming with red and pink.

Hoseok swallows hard, maintaining an easy but not patronizing smile. This smile has gotten him through pulled muscles, one night stands, envy, and funerals. “You wanna… finish up? I’ll leave—”

“I’m done.”

Okay but Yoongi’s cock is twitching under the steady stream of the shower. He looks like he’s about to come. He looks like he was damn close and worked hard to get there and Hoseok feels shitty.

But he’d also feel shitty to keep bringing it up, to highlight the fact that this guy was jacking off in a public shower and he kinda has some reservations about that but at the same time he’s feeling some hypocritical things, so what can he say? And he kinda wants to give Yoongi a hug except that would be weird with their physical situations and he’s just feeling really conflicted okay?

“Oh, okay! Cool,” Hoseok says. And he turns around without reservation, awkward boner and all because dammit, it’s his right to make this as awkward for himself as it is for Yoongi.

(Patting Yoongi on the shoulder while heading to another showerhead wasn’t supposed to be awkward. It was supposed to be warm and supportive. It didn’t translate.)

Hoseok absorbs himself in washing his hair. Such activities require diligence and… and grace…? And fuck, shampoo in his _eyes_ —

“I’m not a fucking pervert,” Yoongi says.

Hoseok bursts into nervous, maniacal laughter that’s way, way too loud. He sounds like a god, voice bouncing off the walls, if the god was a major _fuckup_ like him. “I know!” he says.

No, Hoseok _knows_. He knows that very well, because every sound Yoongi makes is somehow heady and sexual to him, and Hoseok knows it’s half a side-effect of Yoongi’s boner and half a side-effect of his own boner. Yoongi is not the pervert here.

“Look,” Yoongi starts, and Hoseok actually does look and _shit_. (He didn’t mean literally. He was opening a statement, dumbass.) “I don’t know when the hell you got here, but I got here first. I’ve been here for awhile.”

Hoseok laughs slowly. “I’m sorry?”

(His eyes are streaming tears. What the hell is in this shampoo? God, there better not be any sulfates. He just got his highlights done.)

“No, I just mean—” Yoongi looks at Hoseok just as Hoseok looks at Yoongi and it’s a complete accident. Yoongi’s brows twist up and he turns away, recoiling so strongly that he stumbles into the brunt of his showerhead’s water pressure. His stomach contracts and his legs tremble and he steps back completely from the stream of water to the center of the room, gripping his inner thigh while his cock throbs above his hand.

Hoseok didn’t know it was possible to be that sensitive, to be that close, to be—to be that much Yoongi. (He takes a well-needed five seconds to cringe at himself.)

“I don’t have a kink for this type of thing,” Yoongi says, voice impossibly tight. He sounds helpless and mad that he’s helpless. His gaze travels between Hoseok’s legs and flicks away. He doesn’t look like he really cares about the boner thing. He’s probably not really in the position to care about the boner thing. “This wasn’t on purpose.”

Hoseok does the quickest wash of his life and starts for the door. “I should just go.” He still has soap suds between his ass cheeks and shampoo in his eyes but that’s the least of his worries. “You don’t have to prove it to me! I believe you, Yoongi. It’s fine.”

Yoongi grabs Hoseok’s wrist. “Not done yet.”

Warmth builds in Hoseok’s stomach, a mix between jitters just by being touched—butterflies in their purest form—and something heavy and carnal that he doesn’t want to identify. “No, no, that’s what I mean. I’m gonna leave. So you can finish up. And be done.” Luckily Yoongi has no interest in turning him around. Hoseok’s content with what they have going on, back to Yoongi while staring intently at the door, trying not to fixate on the water beating down on the head of his cock. “I’m making you un-uncomfortable—”

“I’m not done,” Yoongi snarls, fingers tightening around Hoseok’s wrist. It’s when his fingernails, bitten, dig in that a part of Hoseok unravels. “The dorm showers are fucking nasty so I come here where it’s cleaner. And my roommate was pissing me off. And I didn’t want to go back too fast. I’m stressed out. And I don’t—this is the first time I’ve—I was even being _really_ careful not to get come anywhere—”

Hoseok’s legs go weak and his stomach swoops and he squeezes his eyes closed and he shouldn’t have, because he sees Min Yoongi on the floor, on top of him, riding his thigh while sucking him off, looking at him through clumped eyelashes and wet hair.

He’s wound together so tight by it, so fucking _tight_.

There’s a memory he’s been blocking. Actually, there’s a few.

There’s a memory he’s been blocking about how Yoongi is the person Hoseok looks at when he’s tired and about to pass out, because Yoongi is so damn good? Something about looking at Yoongi soothes him, gives him energy, puts the drive back in him.

There’s a memory he’s been blocking about the first day they got to college, when Hoseok smiled at Yoongi—introvert secretly energized by team dynamics—and asked him to go out to dinner with everyone. Explained how they’re all gonna support each other, how this sort of thing makes an instant bond and connection, even though he just got there himself and he didn’t know _shit_ but he was gonna make it happen and he knew it was gonna happen. Yoongi declined that time, but not the next time after that.

There’s a memory he’s been blocking about Yoongi, about Yoongi, about Yoongi, and how he always wants to keep working after practice but he stops to tell everyone they’ve done a good job. How he’s all eye contact and short hugs with that little nod he does when physical contact makes him happy but he’s trying not to show it, and then he leaps back in the pool and Hoseok always looks at his legs, his ass, the plane of his back, and says goodbye one more time than necessary before leaving out. Always leaves thinking that if he could draw, he’d draw Yoongi. Always leaves thinking he would learn how to draw so he can draw Yoongi.

There’s a memory he’s been blocking about Yoongi, Min Yoongi, lying on his back, chest heaving, and how Hoseok jokingly stood over Yoongi while his eyes were closed, meaning to scare him. He took the joke a little further when Yoongi still didn’t register it or react in the slightest and was probably asleep and Hoseok had the whole team egging him on because _they_ weren’t brave enough to do it. So, in a triumphant show of dominance, Hoseok straddled him and pinned him down. Surprise attack. And Yoongi got tongue tied first and yelled second and shoved Hoseok into the pool third, which was pretty much the exactly what Hoseok was expecting except in the opposite order.

There’s a memory he hasn’t been able to block of the time he needed to get off fast in order to get on with his life (and his essay) and he thought of Yoongi and he came, quick and desperate and with Yoongi’s name disentangling on his tongue—

Hoseok’s legs are weak. Hoseok is weak. “I got here an hour ago.”

Yoongi gets quiet. “Yeah. I was… teasing my— Uh. Taking my time.”

A clipped moan gathers in the back of his throat. “Okay,” he whispers. But his voice is quivering and just generally not working and he whines helplessly. The water from the showerhead smothers the noise and drowns it out.

Fuck Hoseok’s moral compass. Without it he wouldn’t have stayed with a goddamn boner.

Fuck Yoongi’s moral compass. Without it he wouldn’t be practically anchoring Hoseok in place right now to Make Things Right.

Fuck both of them.

That wasn’t good wording.

“Yoongi—” Hoseok’s voice is rough and loose. He’s turned on by the sound of Yoongi’s name on his tongue. He’s tripping out because it sounds like it does when he’s mouthing it when no one’s around, eyes screwed shut to keep the fantasy alive while he fucks into his hand. Except Yoongi’s here. “Gay shit happens in the showers all the time.” (Of course, Yoongi wasn’t there when, most recently, they rated each other’s asses. To Yoongi, showers are practical and somewhat uncomfortable and mostly gross. He’s by far the fastest.) “It’s, uh, f-fine.”

Everything goes silent and tense and Hoseok takes a precious step towards the door. And Yoongi yanks Hoseok back and _god_ , he’s stronger than he looks. “It’s not _fine_!” He whips Hoseok around and grabs him by both arms and stalks forward with each chasm-wide step Hoseok takes back. “None of this! Is fine!”

“Okay!” Hoseok’s back just hit the wall. This is not fine. His thighs are trembling and they want to jerk _upwards_. He is dripping precome. He is pinned to the wall. This is _not_ fine. “It’s not fine!”

“Thank you!” Yoongi yells back, so forcefully that he pushes forward and Hoseok’s arms end up plastered to the wall. A dull ache coats his shoulders. The muscles in Yoongi’s arms bulge and god, the _veins_. His hands slip on the water on Hoseok’s skin and he loses his grip and his hands—his hands start to fall just as he’s getting his second wind, taking a deep breath probably to yell some more and—

“Y-Yoongi,” Hoseok gasps.

“ _What_?” Yoongi’s pissed and embarrassed and embarrassed because he’s pissed and pissed because he’s embarrassed and he looks so good. Why does he look so _good_?

“Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi I know you’re pissed but _fuck_ Yoongi can you please just—”

Yoongi shoves him back lightly, eyes vulnerable and glassy, and Hoseok moans and his hips stutter and their dicks—touch.

Yoongi curves into himself and a fraction of a sob ravages him and he presses his forehead to Hoseok’s shoulder. He redirects his hands back up, up, _up_ , and ends up skimming Hoseok’s chest, fingers grinding in _desperately_ just under his collarbones, palms making contact with his nipples.

“Fuck.” Yoongi sounds so done with the world, like everything is really fucking him in the ass right now (bad wording) and he's just willing his hands to find purchase and not slip anymore.

“Oh g-god _Yoongi_ ,” Hoseok whispers, and the second Hoseok says his name, Yoongi’s cock throbs (and Hoseok can feel it, Hoseok can feel everything).

“Yeah.” 

“Yoongi?”

“Yeah?”

“I could”— _Jung Hoseok, no, do not fucking say it, your dick is not interchangeable with your brain, do not say it_ —“literally come just saying your name over and over.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Yoongi’s toes curl. “Go for it.”

“What?”

“I said to go for it—”

Hoseok tangles his mouth up with Yoongi’s. He tastes like everything he imagined, like coffee and lingering pool water and junk food, and his mouth is hot and soft, so fucking _soft_. Yoongi’s hands turn to fists and he closes his eyes and then he’s shuddering, breaths building on top of each other until he’s gasping like he’s never breathed before, mouth opening up to Hoseok. His tongue curls into Hoseok’s mouth, frantic and forceful and out of control and god, that tongue. That _tongue_. Hoseok never stops thinking about that tongue. The way Yoongi swipes it over his lips like a cat, the way it shows a little when he’s mouth breathing, the way it parts his lips one corner to the other when he’s being smug.  

“Hoseok. Legs’re giving out,” Yoongi slurs. “My legs are—giving out. I’m sitting down now.”

“Was I that good?” Hoseok is shrill. And nervous. And his brain is ticking furiously. And he’s being obnoxious to hide it because it’s not really sexy to stop for three minutes and critically plan out sex.

“I mean. I’ve been standing up forever and there’s not much blood going to my brain and it’s hot and I’m kinda dying but.” He looks vulnerable like this, perpetually flushed, positioning himself so he’s not as exposed. “Sure.” 

Hoseok grins and pushes his hair back from his face “Well, of course—”

“No. Nope. Don’t start,” Yoongi says. “If you push your hair back every ten seconds, I’ll—”

Hoseok stands over Yoongi. “You’ll?”

Yoongi turns his head and looks away, cheek pressed flush into the tile. “Okay then. A few—a few things first. I gotta say this shit.”

Hoseok almost shrivels up on the inside. _Almost_ because he’s already as shriveled up as he can get. “You okay?”

“Christ, you don’t have to look so serious. I’m—” Yoongi cuts off and swallows hard, concentrating intensely. “I’m good. Uh. God, this is so awkward, but please don’t mess with my asshole. Don’t put any bodily fluids in my mouth. No spontaneous kinky business. And don’t ask for a blowjob. I’m so fucking sorry, it just. Needed to be said.”

“Oh.” Hoseok nods gravely. “Of course. Absolutely.”

Yoongi looks like he wants to crawl out of his skin. “The last one makes me sad but y’know, I can only handle a guy I don’t know spontaneously pushing on the back of my head and fucking into my mouth once.” He’s babbling now, talking so fast in between beats of forced laughter that Hoseok’s mind whirls. It’s like they’ve switched personalities. “I threw up on his dick—I kinda let that happen—and had to explain the whole porn vs. reality shabang to him, poor guy.”

“You savage.” Hoseok bites his lip and not in the sexy way. He bites it like he’s about to eat it whole. “So being straddled isn’t on the list?” And he is so fucking awkward, kneeling down to settle on top of him, easing Yoongi onto his back.

Yoongi doesn’t resist but he is _mortified_ and laid bare. His gaze lowers to Hoseok’s wet chest, Hoseok’s wet thighs, Hoseok’s wet cock dripping precome onto his stomach. He shudders, abs contracting, and turns his head away again. “Oh god.”

Hoseok moves to change positions but Yoongi’s fingertips paint down Hoseok’s upper thighs and settle just above his kneecaps. He grips him hard. “Stay.” Yoongi squirms underneath Hoseok and closes his eyes, legs quivering. “Christ, stay.”

“Okay,” Hoseok says, resting his hands on either side of Yoongi’s head, eyes intent on him. His hair drips leftover conditioner onto Yoongi’s cheeks.

Yoongi’s gaze flicks to Hoseok’s face, to his eyes, and he turns his head again. “Oh fuck,” he sobs, lips tight, thighs pressing together, toes curling into the wet tile while he twists his legs. “Oh _fuck_ , Hobi—”

Hoseok rolls his hips agonizingly slow and Yoongi arches, mouth opening while he chokes out a strained, soundless cry. He inhales short breaths, chest heaving, hands trembling so hard that they slide off Hoseok’s legs to claw into the tile.

Hoseok leans further over Yoongi and rolls his hips again, falling into a feather light rhythm that just barely brushes their cocks together.

“Stop fucking teasing,” Yoongi gasps, legs hooking around Hoseok’s waist. “A-always fucking teasing. Pretend you’re spontaneous but you’re scared to l-let go—”

Hoseok’s hips stutter against Yoongi, rhythm forgotten, and Yoongi’s breath spills frantically over his collarbones.

“Are you hesitating?” Yoongi blinks water out his eyes. “S-so— _fuck_ —goddamn passive aggressive— _ah_. You tease and tease but nothing ever comes out of it—” He cuts off with a sharp groan and arches off the tile, legs falling from Hoseok’s waist from how much he’s shaking.

“What was that?”

It’s like Yoongi can’t stay still, hips jerking under Hoseok, some limbs going stiff and rigid, others too loose. “Need to come—n-need to come, oh god I can’t— _f-fuck_ , Hobi—”

Hoseok swallows a moan and rocks back, staving off stimulation into a slow, faint brush.

Yoongi presses flat against the tile like he wants to somehow push through it, fall through the floor. “Hobi Hobi H- _Hobi_ , please—” He exhales a stuttered moan, breathless and strained in the back of his throat, and raises his hips, and spreads his legs.  “Please—please, fuck, please—” He grinds into air, against nothing but dripping water and a ribbon of precome from Hoseok’s cock, mere centimeters from his own as Hoseok pulls back and tries to keep from coming too fast.

Fuck that.

Yoongi’s hand shoots forward, palm massaging the head of Hoseok’s cock with rushed, frantic pressure, and Hoseok has never felt so out of control. His mind goes blank and he moans, throaty and guttural and unconcerned with how he sounds and it leaves his throat raw. His head falls forward, hair curtaining his eyes, and Yoongi’s hand is wet and warm and firm and tight and Hoseok is so close.

Yoongi fits his hand around their cocks and Hoseok pushes forward, fucking into Yoongi’s palm trapped between their stomachs. Hoseok folds into himself, whimpering into the base of Yoongi’s shoulder.

And Yoongi is jerking them off and Hoseok comes on Yoongi’s cock, unprepared and unexpected with a broken whine of Yoongi’s name (once, twice, countless times), completely at his mercy.

Yoongi lurches, the come adding extra slide as Hoseok rides through his orgasm. Yoongi pumps their cocks, rushed and so rough that it hurts, and his hand trembles and the pace falters. Hoseok smears his come onto Yoongi’s slit.

Yoongi curls into himself, brows knit together, hand tightening involuntarily. Hoseok brushes the head with his fingers, slick and hot with come. Yoongi contracts into himself with each slam of Hoseok’s hips, contracts into himself from the swiveling motion he makes while grinding down and fucking into Yoongi’s hand. And oh god, the _pressure_  is amazing.

Their lips touch lightly, unintentionally, each time Hoseok leans forward to rock firmly back, and it takes three times before Yoongi snaps and kisses Hoseok hard enough to bruise, teeth and tongue and any other sharp edges intact, wrapping his legs around Hoseok’s waist, canting his hips forcefully, gripping the back of Hoseok’s head with his fingernails digging in, everything digging in, and Hoseok can’t tell where Yoongi ends and he begins anymore.

Hoseok’s fingertips dance faster, harder along the head of Yoongi’s cock, awkward and messy and frenzied and uncomfortable and their hands keep getting tangled up.

Yoongi bucks into the pressure.  A soundless moan tears from the back of his throat, building all at once into begging that’s punctuated by discordant sobs. He grabs desperately, helplessly, for Hoseok’s arm and chokes out a rough, strained keen, ribbons of come streaking his chest long after he stops writhing.

Eventually the only thing that’s left is his grip on Hoseok.

And Hoseok, being Hoseok, immediately becomes paranoid about possible Post-Sex Quiet, symptoms including awkwardness, staring, stuttering, and regret, and rakes back his fringe. “What were you saying about nothing ever coming out of my teasing?” He sounds obnoxious again.

“The only thing that’s ever come out of your teasing is smeared in your hair. Good job.”

It was cooler in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> it'd been 27 hours since i slept when i finished this. two more hours until it's finished, my ass... but anyway. wowee! look what i did. i'm currently working on a jikook longfic... and when it's fighting with me i write other things. yeah. oh, the title is from wild by troye sivan!
> 
> (non-penetrative sex is so fun to write? it can be so creative and intense? i _am_ so creative and intense? the idea of writing sex where penetration is the main course bores me? rip)
> 
> main tumblr @ sugodemic  
> fic sideblog @ bottomnamjoon


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